Forewarned is Forearmed
by Sanguinary Tears
Summary: A moment of clairvoyance allows Sweeney to see what might occur if he doesn't wait like Mrs. Lovett has advised him to do. Slight Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett


The title is in Latin and translates as 'forewarned is forearmed'. I got these words from a book I was reading and I thought they were very fitting to Sweeney considering his oath to kill Turpin and because he's armed with his razor. I hope you like it, please review! And my apologies if it is not very good.

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_Praemonitus, Praemunitus _

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_(Forewarned is Forearmed)_

Patience was something Sweeney Todd lacked. He could not wait a second longer. He was going to disregard Mrs. Lovett's warning and go after the Judge tonight and put an end to Turpin's worthless life. After all, with Lucy (presumed) dead, and Johanna for ever out of his reach, what more did Sweeney Todd have to live for? Nothing but the relief of death itself and the possible reunion with his darling Lucy. That was all he had to look forward to once he got his revenge.

For some time he paced up in his shop until he gradually heard the dying clutter of work down below. He was surprised when he heard Mrs. Lovett retire early for the evening; usually she would come up and see if he needed anything, but tonight it was not so. Sweeney chose to ignore this peculiarity concerning Mrs. Lovett and got ready for the evening ahead of him.

He gave his razor one last sharpening and final polish; the razor had to be as sharp as it ever was if it was going to cut the Judge's throat smoothly. When these small but essential matters were dealt with, Sweeney placed the razor back in its holster and gently took the framed picture of his family that had been taken so long ago. Fifteen years. So much had changed during that extension of that time. So much had been lost as well—sanity, reason, trust, and love.

Sweeney stared forlornly at the image of his beautiful wife and daughter before he compellingly tore his eyes away from the hurtful past and replaced it on the small desk where all his barber things were neatly placed. Neatness would no longer have any important after tonight. In fact, everything was going to be bloody messy.

There was nothing else detaining his departure. He calmly yet determinedly made his way down the wicked streets leading away from Fleet Street (possibly for ever) to his destination. A few minutes later he stepped out of the shadows and was facing his source of pain. The manor-house appeared to look even more malicious in the dark against the black velvet sky then during the day against the murky sky when the air was polluted with smoke and despair.

Sweeney paused, considering his plan to get in. He eyed the front door then studied the entrance to the house from the left side. He did not waste a second more before he was mutely making his way down the pitch black ally way between the Judge's house and the neighbors'. In moments he forced the lock on the door as skillfully as he knew how to without making any noise.

He listened for any servants that might be on the other side still up and about; when he was assured that all was silent on the other side, he opened the door, razor in hand. He closed the door behind him with a soft click and entered. With a few blinks of his alert eyes, Sweeny was able to see in the darkness clearly as if it were day.

Everything in the house was startling quiet. As he made his way out of what he thought was the kitchen and stepped into the hall way, a twisted concoction of excitement and impious glee seized control of his beating heart. The moment he had yearned and gone insane for had finally arrived. He was going to kill the Judge! He was sincerely going to enjoy all the blood that was surely going to splash out of him in torrents of scarlet. And his screams. Music to his ears.

Sweeney hurried as silently as he could down the stretch of space before creeping up the stairs. When he had mounted up the last step, he found himself staring at the possibility of three doors hiding the Judge. A frown caused his brows to furrow pensively. He did not have the slightest idea which door was the Judge's room. The corner of his lip twitched and he felt his blood boil from irritation. He could not very well open each door until he located him; that would be risking too much. He would have to choose the door carefully.

His eyes quickly swept between the door on his right and the two doors on his left. He would randomly guess which one hid what he was looking for. Taking his pick on the door to his left, the first one, Sweeney subdued his excitement and approached the door. Again he listened and he was a little surprise he had chosen the right room. He pressed his ear to the door and heard the deep snores of the Judge.

A wicked sensation prompted him to throw open the door and just storm in and slit his throat. He repressed the urge that was strong in his veins. He needed to keep calm and think reasonably. If he allowed his wild desires to overtake him, it would be the end of him—though all this waiting wasn't doing him much other either. It was only giving him more strain and teasing his restraint.

Slowly he reached out his left hand and noiselessly turned the doorknob and pushed it open. And there he was with his eyes shut closed and conveniently on his back with his scrawny throat just begging to be rented. What a vulnerable position Sweeney thought darkly. This was it, his moment of revenge. He did not concern himself to shut the door as he walked in on silent feet towards the bed. There was no reason why he should. Blood rushed through every vein in his body vigorously almost painfully as his fingers gripped the razor firmly.

Judge Turpin's chest rose and fell in a sleepy rhythm, further proving he was dead asleep—deader he was about to become once his razor ran across his throat. Never had he been more impatient in all his life then now. His fingers twitched and his knuckles had turned white with the force from holding the razor in his hand.

Sweeney's eyes were wide and wild looking. At last at the Judge's left side, he bent down and applied the razor at the Turpin's neck, instantly causing the man to be jerked out of slumber and frantically looking into the mad barber's ferocious eyes. He gasped in immediate realization at who the insane barber was. Panic left his eyes and was replaced with hate, anger and bewilderment. Sweeney smirked evilly when he was sure the Judge knew who he was.

"Benjamin Barker! But how?" Turpin hissed against the blade at his throat making it hard to even speak let alone cry for help. None would come he was sure of.

"Todd. Sweeney Todd. The man you just referred to has long ago perished in the hell _you_ sent him to die in fifteen years ago." Sweeney replied sharply. "But enough of him remains to have transformed him into me."

"I thought I was done with you then! How did you come to London?" Turpin questioned helplessly, yet wanted to know how he had been so stupid to think he had finished with a man like Benjamin Barker. A man who clearly by his demeanor showed he was not one to give up and allow injustice to be ignored. He had doubted Benjamin from ever coming back from the prison in Australia.

"So you _thought_, Turpin but alas it's not so as you anticipated. How I returned you'll never know since the information'll be of no use where you'll soon be going." Sweeney began to cut into Turpin's throat, pinning him with his free hand and making sure he would not get away.

"Now that I have you at last, you won't be getting away from me like last time. This is the end you bastard for the hell you put me and my family through!" Sweeney snarled his self-control rapidly decaying under the strain. He raised the razor and brought it down over Turpin's neck. But steel never met flesh as he had anticipated.

His body became rigid with fear and his brain at the last moment coming to sense, Turpin mustered all the strength he could to shove Sweeney off of him and ran for the door. He nearly made it but Sweeney as faster. The ferocious barber seized Turpin by the nape of his neck and threw him across the room. He would _not _allow him to get away again.

Sweeney leaped across the room, determined to kill him before he was able to utter a scream for help. He was on top of him in seconds and was bringing down the razor to his throat, but the instinct for survival was strong in Turpin. Somehow the panicky Judge thrust Sweeney off and on his stomach squirmed away from him. Sweeney had managed to produce a thin line of blood on his neck. It was not as life threatening as to dull his chance to escape.

Getting to his feet quickly Sweeney brutally hauled the Judge up and punched him across the face causing his head to snap to the left nastily. His restrain had snapped when the Judge had practically gotten away. Nothing was holding him back now. Nothing at all would stop him. The Judge was spitting blood from his battered mouth and staggering on his feet. It was not enough. He was not suffering enough. There was not enough crimson to satisfy Sweeney.

An inhuman ejaculation escaped Sweeney's lips as he raised his razor in the air and plunged it ruthlessly into the horrified and stupefied Judge. He stabbed brutally like a madman into the Judge's throat, collarbone and just about any other place he could until the razor was covered in blood along with his hand, face and his front side. He yanked the blade out of the body and repeated his stabbing until his hands trembled and the razor unceremoniously plummeted to the floor.

He unclenched his hand and allowed the Judge's body to drop to the floor. He was dead. With the impact Turpin's skull cracked open and suddenly a pool of blood formed and touched Sweeney's black boots. He smiled, it was an insane smile, but nevertheless it was genuine. Sweeney stared intently at the body and his smile grew broader. He wanted to laugh, to let go of what ever remained of his sanity and simply laugh.

He almost did, but the presence of another made him whirl around and he was faced with a face he had not dreamed of ever seeing. At the threshold stood a beautiful girl of only fifteen with a revolver in her unsteady hands aimed at him. The smile he wore vanished and he looked astonished at the girl in front of him. She looked just like he had imaged her to be. She was beautiful. Lovingly he stepped towards her to see her better, and instinctively and out of fear she fired.

The bullet made instant contact with his body and pierced his heart and he crumpled to the ground. His eyes grew heavy and his chest was on fire from the bullet having destroyed tissue and his heart. Blood gushed from the wound and his mouth like a water fountain. It did not hurt as it might have hurt another. All his pain was numbed because of her. She was the one thing that was keeping him from feeling any of death's desperate attempts to end his life and send him to hell like he knew he deserved.

There were tears making her eyes glossy. She stared wide eyed at him and tossed aside the revolver. She brought her hands to her mouth to suppress the scream she so badly wanted to exclaim for what she had done. She had killed a man.

Sweeney observed her fears and wanted to comfort her, to assure her everything was alright and that she had no need to worry. He wanted to go to her, to embrace her and sooth her, but he couldn't and he never would. His eyes stayed open for a second longer before they closed and eclipsed her image. He could faintly picture her as he died. So beautiful with hair as yellow as…

A strange choking sound aroused Sweeney from his unexpected slumber. He slowly opened his eyes and found his vision was slightly blurred. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision and stopped. He brushed his fingers over his cheek and found that they were wet. He looked up and found that he was seated in the booth down in Mrs. Lovett's pie shop. A half empty bottle of gin and a glass glared back at him knowingly.

He had been crying and that strange noise had been him whimpering in his sleep. Tearing his eyes away from his moist fingertips, he found Mrs. Lovett was staring at him. She was worried, he could tell by the glassy surface of her eyes.

"Mr. T…" She began softly.

Without saying a word or sparing her a glance, Sweeney stood up from his seat and left the pie shop and stepped out into the cold night. It had been the first time he had shed tears in fifteen years. And he would make sure they were the last that ever escaped from his eyes.


End file.
